


Jaws, Veins, Cracks

by meanderingmirth



Series: Five Days of Dark Concepts [5]
Category: VIXX
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanderingmirth/pseuds/meanderingmirth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fight culture is something that can provide as easily as it can take away, but there is no glamour or hype about descending into the pits as a fighter. It’s the spectators that create that misconception with their thirst for each fight, exchanging money as often as one would exchange second-hand smoke in the stands. If they had it their way they’d recruit every available body in the city to fight for their entertainment. It’s the fighters, the ones that really duke it out in the holes in the ground, that look up from under hooded eyes and around stained, purpled skin, the high off the stimulant wearing off as they say <i>don’t get involved if you know what’s good for you.</i></p><p>Hakyeon started young, so it made sense he’d end it all young, too.</p><p>(In which their professions have shattered more than just bones within them, but Hakyeon finds that some things like <i>friends</i> and <i>family</i> and <i>love</i> cannot be so easily broken. And for that, he knows everything will be okay.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jaws, Veins, Cracks

**Author's Note:**

> Day 5 of "Dark Concepts Theme"! We’ve made it to the end!
> 
> enjoy!

“Oh my god,” Hakyeon laughs when Wonshik staggers into the apartment, leaning heavily against Sanghyuk. “Wasted again?”

“Shut up,” Wonshik grumbles, sporting an impressive bruise on his jaw. The blues and purples meld together to create one giant blotch that looks as ugly as it is painful. He falls into one of the wobbly stools next to the kitchen table and slumps onto the scratched up surface. “Grab me a beer, why don’t you.”

“Get it yourself,” Hakyeon grins, unapologetic, and it’s Hongbin who stands up and shoots him a glare, crossing the room in quick strides to take a dark bottle out of the fridge. Hakyeon likes Hongbin. The youngster is quiet but calm, always choosing to avoid strife and arguments and settles all of their unnecessary bickering with peacemaking. Hakyeon’s not like that. He likes to stir up trouble from time to time; it keeps him on his toes.

“Want a cigarette?” he offers instead, and after a moment’s deliberation Wonshik nods, accepting the slightly crushed carton and convenience store lighter pushed his way. He’s a little jittery as he lights the stick up, seemingly unable to stop his knee from bouncing up and down. His fingers fold restlessly, like they’re seeking something to do, but in the dim light Hakyeon can tell that Wonshik’s eyes are its normal dark brown and his pupils are not madly diluted, and his internal worries lessen slightly.

“Who’d you lose to?” Hakyeon asks after Wonshik gathers himself long enough to puff out a thick plume of smoke, momentarily flooding the cramped space with heavy, toxic smolder.

“Taekwoon,” Sanghyuk answers from where he’s storing a heavy-duty black box, not unlike a hardware toolbox, into a password protected safe under the sink. Wonshik glowers.

“Your boyfriend fights dirty,” he complains for the umpteenth time, and Hakyeon snorts.

“Taekwoonie would never fight dirty,” he singsongs, tapping his foot against the leg of the table. Everybody in the room shoots him a deadpan look, still not buying his claim.

“Look at him defending his hubby,” Wonshik grumbles, and Hongbin nods in agreement.

“Back in the old days you’d practically be getting tax benefits by now. You’re a gross couple.”

“We’re not gross,” Hakyeon says indignantly.

“He gives you flowers for your birthday,” Sanghyuk laughs.

“And on anniversaries,” Hongbin chimes in.

“And when he wants to come over to pound your—” Wonshik begins, but he doesn’t get that far.

“You want me to bruise the other side of your jaw?” Hakyeon asks sweetly, and Wonshik wisely shuts up after that, even though his eyes are glittering with unrestrained mirth. “You guys are such dirty, perverse men.”

“Okay granny,” Sanghyuk says. “If we’re so dirty, just move in with Taekwoon and then I can take your room and finally have some privacy when I jack off.”

“You should just lock the door,” Hongbin commented.

“I share the damn room,” Wonshik complains.

“So? I share a room with Hakyeon and I almost always lock him out.”

“I resent that,” Hakyeon retorts, standing. The banter has gone on long enough and he’s tired from sitting in the kitchen table, waiting up for Wonshik and Sanghyuk to return from the pits after the night’s fight. He rummages in the cabinet under the sink for the bag of medical supplies. Inside are a few bandages and cream for Wonshik’s bruise, the few cuts on his knuckles, and several packets of serialized needles.

“Get Wonshik cleaned up and give him the sleeper shot before the stimulant wears off and he crashes,” he says in lieu of goodnight, figuring Hongbin is probably still awake enough to give Wonshik his shot. He collects his water bottle and magazines off the tables before squeezing into the narrow hallway towards his bedrooms, yawning. The air is humid and moist tonight, and Hakyeon wonders if him sleeping in the nude would mentally scar Hongbin even more.

“Was Taekwoon really fighting dirty?” Hongbin asks, soft voice carrying despite his best efforts to stay quiet.

“Nah,” Wonshik mutters, and he sounds drained. “He was just…sharp. Sharper and faster. Too sharp and fast, actually…”

There’s a pause that follows, and Hongbin says worriedly, “So does it mean…?”

“He’s been overdosing,” Sanghyuk whispers, and Hakyeon’s steps screech to a halt. Unfortunately, the floor stops creaking with his footsteps, and in turn, the conversation in the kitchen stops as well, once the other three realize he’s listening in. Forced to continue on, Hakyeon grits his teeth and ducks into his shared bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Overdosing, Sanghyuk had said.

Hakyeon doesn’t sleep well that night.

+

Fight culture is something that can provide as easily as it can take away, but there is no glamour or hype about descending into the pits as a fighter. It’s the spectators that create that misconception with their thirst for each fight, exchanging money as often as one would exchange second-hand smoke in the stands. If they had it their way they’d recruit every available body in the city to fight for their entertainment. It’s the fighters, the ones that really duke it out in the holes in the ground, that look up from under hooded eyes and around stained, purpled skin, the high off the stimulant wearing off as they say  _don’t get involved if you know what’s good for you_.

Hakyeon started young, so it made sense he’d end it all young, too.

+

The train running across the bridge over their apartment wakes him the next morning with a hefty handful of dust falling onto his face. Hakyeon spits, splutters and swears as he sits up, fanning swarms of white away from his face with a cough. The sun is streaming in through the stained glass, hot as ever, and he sighs tiredly, scrubbing a hand over his sticky hair and wondering if he should shower. His back aches with real soreness and phantom pains, and he takes a minute to adjust to his surroundings before scooting off the bed.

Hongbin is still asleep, facing the wall on the other side of the room as he snored quietly, his ribcage expanding slowly with each breath. A battered physiology textbook is still open next to him on the pillow, decorated with sticky notes and highlighted sentences. Hakyeon carefully picks it up, folds the corner of the page down, and places it on top of a pile of research notes and old practice exams on the nightstand before leaving the room.

Nobody is awake yet, even though it’s well past nine. Hakyeon doesn’t blame them; they all had a late night. He can hear Wonshik’s thunderous grunts in the room next door and spies Sanghyuk’s blanketed form on the couch in the den, coffee table taken over by two large boxes of various electronic parts and stolen or disposed cell phones he was fixing up to sell later on in the day.

He hops into the bathroom and showers quickly, shuddering under the icy spray that manages to wash out the layer of sweat and grime covering his skin. He wanders through the house, naked, and digs out the cleanest shirt and shorts he can find in his dresser. Hongbin snorts suddenly and turns over while he’s still changing. Hakyeon freezes, expecting Hongbin to wake and yell at him, but the other just sighs in his sleep and dozes on. Hakyeon rolls his eyes, runs a comb through his hair, slips his wallet and keys into his pockets, grabs his sunglasses, and then steps out of the front door.

The city is noisy in the day, but it’s a different kind of noisy than it is during the night. In the mornings, there are the sounds of labour, traffic and machinery. People who have jobs shutter about, gingerly packing themselves into buses and streetcars or else choosing to sweat it out on the sidewalk, trudging on to their workplaces under the burn of the hot mid-morning sun.

Hakyeon hangs a left and ducks into the narrow spaces between crumbling buildings, slipping under drooping wires and clotheslines and jumping over garbage and sleeping bodies curled up under boxes or on tattered mats. The alley marketplace stuffed into the heart of the backstreets is a place that runs at all hours, where people haggle for scraps of food, clothes and other stolen materials. Hakyeon feels more than one pair of hands sneak their way into his pockets as he squeezes through the crowd, but he’s fast and slippery and the hands fall out before they could grab anything of great importance.

He buys a few oranges from the street kids huddled under a lamppost, passing them heavy coins in exchange for the grubby but fresh fruit, which the children probably lifted off the carts behind larger grocery stores when the employees weren’t looking. Another train clatters by overhead, cutting the rays of sunlight to messy, blinding spasms, and Hakyeon lowers his head and hurries through the rest of the labyrinth to his destination. He doesn’t like staying in the marketplace for long. Sketchy persons of all types linger in the corners and, when worse came to worse, raids from armed cops would sweep in and raze everything in its path.

There is a closed sign hanging in the window of Dr. Lee’s Clinic at the quiet corner of the intersection, but Hakyeon bypasses that and goes around to the back, where he climbs a set of rusted metal steps to rap insistently on the back door. It takes a while, but eventually Jaehwan pokes his head out, curly hair falling in hapless disorder over his face as he squints, puffy-eyed, at Hakyeon.

“Why are you here so early?” he demands.

“Good morning to you too,” Hakyeon replies, and pushes past Jaehwan into the building.

“He’s still asleep,” Jaehwan yells as Hakyeon shoves the oranges into his hands and climbs the step two at a time, thumping loudly. He’s about to answer when the door he’s headed towards swings open without his prompting. Taekwoon stands in the doorway, pale and peaky, but definitely awake. His black hair hangs in a matted mess in front of his eyes and reminds Hakyeon of those uncollared, shaggy dogs that bound across the dirt fields. He stifles a laugh and pushes Taekwoon’s bangs out of his face, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.

Taekwoon sighs into the kiss, lifting his arm to curl it lazily around Hakyeon’s waist, pulling him closer and sweeping his tongue against Hakyeon’s lower lip.

“Could you two not,” Jaehwan whines, slowly rising up the stairs with a look of intense distaste on his face. “It’s too early for this nauseating romance.”

“Go back to sleep then,” Taekwoon answers, his voice hoarse and soft. He blinks his horribly bloodshot eyes and scrunches up his nose, carefully tucking away the obvious pain he’s in that came from simply standing up. Neither Hakyeon nor Jaehwan misses the actions, and they both being pushing Taekwoon back into his bedroom and onto his bed, fussing.

“Ah, jeez, I told you you’d have a bad withdrawal,” Jaehwan huffs, picking through a bunch of marked boxes and empty eye drop bottles on Taekwoon’s nightstand. Hakyeon stiffens as he tries to tug the blanket back on Taekwoon, who’s trying to push it back off him.

“I’m fine,” Taekwoon insists. “Hakyeon, stop trying to put that sweaty thing on me, it’s boiling in here.”

“How much did you drop yesterday night?” Hakyeon asks instead, planting himself on the edge of Taekwoon’s bed. Taekwoon’s face smoothes over too quickly, and Hakyeon sets his mouth into a thin line. Taekwoon’s gaze remains carefully passive, and Hakyeon exhales loudly through his nose as he waits.

“I’m suddenly very interested in finding an ice pack for Taekwoon’s eyes,” Jaehwan says blandly. “God knows how you two manage to have an argument without even talking, but I’m not gonna question it.” He crosses the room in two large strides and shuts the door noisily behind him, and Hakyeon hears the doctor humming as he walks down the stairs, taking care to thump heavily with each step. Hakyeon’s gaze doesn’t waver, and eventually, Taekwoon answers him, probably too tired to keep up the prolonged silence.

“I dropped enough,” he says evasively, and Hakyeon reaches out, taking Taekwoon’s hand. Against his own, Taekwoon’s hand looks thin and pale, but Hakyeon’s seen those knuckles drenched in blood before (Hakyeon’s) and he’s seen those lithe fingers nearly gouge out eyes (other fighters’). He sighs.

“How much,” he asks again, and Taekwoon shifts his eyes to the ceiling.

“Five bottles,” he answers, and Hakyeon nearly falls off the bed.

“ _Five bottles_ — have you gone mad?!”

“My opponent was a head taller than I am and probably weighed about twice as much,” Taekwoon replies, as though that was an adequate explanation. “I won though,” he adds. “And then I thoroughly beat Wonshik up in the next round. Tell him I’m sorry about his jaw.”

“He’s fine, because he only went through one and a half bottles yesterday night,” Hakyeon snaps. “You, on the other hand—”

“Am going to be fine after a day’s rest,” Taekwoon says calmly. “Will you please stop overreacting?”

“Me worrying about you getting killed in the pit and potentially dying from overdosing is overreacting?” Hakyeon says furiously. “Oh, sorry, didn’t realize that me caring is such a big deal.”

Taekwoon turns to look at him, expression serene, eyes kind of playful, and says in tone so soft that Hakyeon practically feels the fight leaving him. “You care?”

“Fucker,” Hakyeon grumbles, kicking off his shoes to curl up against Taekwoon’s side on the tiny, creaking bed. “If you die I’m going to kill you.”

“Duly noted,” Taekwoon hums, and tucks Hakyeon’s head under his chin. His breathing is slow and even and soothing.

Somebody knocks at the door.

“Are you two decent?” Jaehwan asks through the thin plywood, pitching his voice high and breathy, like a suburban mom. He doesn’t really wait for an answer and barges in anyway, carrying a bag of ice in one hand and a box of supplies in the other.

“For your eyes,” he says, tossing the bag towards them. Hakyeon catches it and it nearly slips from his fingers because of the condensation. He passes it to Taekwoon, who slaps it onto his face and continues to lie there, dozing. Hakyeon crawls over the taller man and squeezes himself between the wall and Taekwoon’s body so Jaehwan could do his “doctoring”.

“How are the kids?” Jaehwan asks Hakyeon as he snaps a pair of latex gloves onto his hands.

“Doing okay,” Hakyeon hums. “Hongbin’s exam is soon. He’s been studying a lot.”

“Still aiming to be a personal trainer, eh?” Jaehwan chuckles. “Good for him.”

“More specifically, Wonshik’s personal trainer,” Hakyeon hums. “Once he gets licensed and they officially start working together, Wonshik’s legitimacy as a fighter will increase and both of them will earn more money from sponsors. There’s a few eyes on Wonshik already anyway.”

“I thought you were his trainer,” Jaehwan says in surprise. He wraps the sphygmomanometer around Taekwoon’s arm and stuffs his battered stethoscope under the cuff, making Taekwoon purse his lips as the cuff squeezes around his bicep.

“I’m a mentor,” Hakyeon corrects. “There’s a difference.”

“Then what’s Sanghyuk?”

“Water boy,” Taekwoon and Hakyeon both say at the same time, and Jaehwan laughs.

“I think he’s got his eyes set on being a fighter once he graduates from college in a few months,” Hakyeon huffs. “He could be a good one, seeing how big he’s grown lately, but still.”

“What did you say to him when he told you that?”

“Told him to use his even bigger brain and finish studying,” Hakyeon growls, crossing his arms stiffly. “Thank god I made him apply all those years ago; he’s too smart for the pits.”

“We’re not exactly the best role models for him,” Taekwoon murmurs. “Wonshik and I are out every other night at the very least, and you—”

“I think I’m probably the best poster child for ‘don’t be a fighter or you’ll end up like him’,” Hakyeon cuts in, schooling his voice into a carefully neutral tone. It ends up kind of flat, and thankfully neither Taekwoon nor Jaehwan point that out. The doctor finishes checking Taekwoon’s blood pressure and the circulation in his hands and feet before pulling out a pack of needles, the same ones Hakyeon had given to Wonshik the night before. Jaehwan yanked off the cap, flicked it gently before plunging it neatly into Taekwoon’s arm, making Taekwoon grunt a little at the sudden intrusion against the sensitive crook of his elbow.

“That should keep you running for now,” Jaehwan says smartly, clapping Taekwoon’s leg. “Speaking professionally, as a doctor, I’d strongly advise against dropping that much next time. Speaking as your friend, I  _never_  want to see you that doped up on fighting stimulants ever again, okay?”

“Okay,” Taekwoon replies, and Jaehwan shakes his head like an old man, gathering his supplies and standing.

“Come next week and you’ll be like this again, beat up in some way or another,” Jaehwan sighs. “You’ve picked a fickle lover, Hakyeon.”

“I can live with that,” Hakyeon answers truthfully, and he feels Taekwoon’s hand seek his out, squeezing lightly. Jaehwan pretends to swoon before ducking out of Taekwoon’s bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him to give them some privacy.

Hakyeon turns on his side and snuggles up to Taekwoon, reaching up to push a few lanky strands away from Taekwoon’s face.

“How do you feel?”

“Sleepy,” Taekwoon slurs, sinking into his pillow. Hakyeon chuckles and tilts his head up to press a kiss against the underside of Taekwoon’s chin.

“Sleeper shot’s kicked in then,” he says. “Try and get some more rest.”

“Mm,” Taekwoon mutters, and his breathing is already started to even out. Jaehwan probably upped the dosage to counteract the five bottles of stimulant Taekwoon used last night to win his fights.

 _Five bottles_. Hakyeon presses his lips into a thin line of extreme unhappiness. The most he ever used back when he was still a fighter, even in the direst fight, was three. He still remembers the adrenaline that course through his blood, the way the world warps in his vision and how he simultaneously felt lighter than a feather yet sturdy as a boulder. And then came the aftermath; the morning after, where every last strand of muscle aches something terrible and the pressure in the back of his head makes him want to curl in on himself and die. And then there are his eyes— the simulant were dropped directly into the fighter’s eyes, not unlike regular eye drops sold in drug stores, and absorbed that way.

The ice pack slides down the side of Taekwoon’s face and Hakyeon reaches over to push it back up over his eyes, soothing the burning pain that all fighters experience as an after effect. The condensation rolls down the side of Taekwoon’s cheek like fat, heavy teardrops, and Hakyeon wipes it away.

The unshielded, direct drug absorption fucked up a lot more of Hakyeon than he’d care to admit, especially since he began fighting early and illegally as an underage participant. Young users like Wonshik would wake up with red, itchy, aching eyes, but veterans like him and Taekwoon would feel the lasting effects a lot more. For one thing, neither of them could cry real tears anymore, and if they’d continued dropping, they’d also eventually lose the ability to see colours before going blind.

An irreversible, painful end to a short-lived career.

Hakyeon tries not to dwell too much on it.

+

He’s never told the others the story of how he and Taekwoon met, but they managed to figure out the basics anyway. Hakyeon and Taekwoon met when Hakyeon was still a fighter, and somehow seeing each other shirtless stirred up a wild, fiery passion in their loins and that is why Jaehwan is occasionally forced to stay over in Hongbin and Hakyeon’s shared room from time to time, groaning about the unfairness of life and why he gets kicked out of his own clinic whenever the two of them feel like banging.

The wild, fiery passion part was only part of Wonshik’s eloquent harlequin comments, and Hakyeon has to give the others credit for almost correctly guessing their history.

They’d actually met in the pit nearly three years ago, when Hakyeon was amongst the top fighters in the city and Taekwoon was clawing his way up like a silent but feral beast. He was quite the sight with the piercing gaze in his dark eyes and perpetual frown carved into his face. He fought under his last name, Jung, and Jaehwan was the smiley, deceptively innocent figure that hovered behind him from time to time. Hakyeon had never met a stranger, contrasting duo.

He forgets all about that when Taekwoon punched him so hard he dislocated his jaw and swore he saw galaxies explode behind his eyelids. He had to fight harder than he’s ever had in the pit, and after an intense seventeen-minute struggle, Hakyeon dragged himself from the screaming crowd and Taekwoon’s motionless body, victorious but exhausted. His injuries prevented him from fighting for another week, and Wonshik, still a novice at the time, had to shakily take his place in the pit.

When Hakyeon returned for his next fight, Taekwoon was there again, now-curious eyes following him and the inch-long cut Hakyeon had gouged into his neck only just healed over. They fought like animals, with Hakyeon barely scraping together another victory. Then they came together again a week later, and again, and each time he could feel his control slipping with each match and his interest growing stronger whenever he saw Taekwoon.

They finally converged in the narrow little alleyway behind the pit Hakyeon frequented at the time, a smoky, stifling one buried in the recess of the unused plots housing old hydro factories. It had been a little less than four months since they’d first met. Taekwoon looked different when he wasn’t shirtless and bloodied; he was surprisingly neat and proper with his attire, choosing to wear thin jeans and plain shirts matched with a soft leather jacket and two small studs in his left ear. Hakyeon had never noticed the holes in Taekwoon’s earlobe, even with his hyper-aware senses in the pit.

“No off-site fights allowed,” Hakyeon had joked, trekking up the slight incline of the uneven path. “You know the rules.”

Taekwoon had looked adorably lost then, even with his black eye (courtesy of Hakyeon’s right hook).

“I’m not here to fight you,” he said, quiet voice nearly lost in the noise of the machinery in the newer lot. Hakyeon had laughed, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.

“I’m kidding. Were you waiting for me?”

“Yes,” Taekwoon replied, lowering his gaze. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Well, here we are. Talking,” Hakyeon said, eyes crinkling at the corners when Taekwoon looked up and fixed him with a rather exasperated glance. “What is it you wanted to chat about then?”

Taekwoon’s tongue darted out over his pale lips, and gesture Hakyeon would later realized was a harmless nervous tic, and said, “Can we talk… elsewhere? It’s noisy, and I don’t like lingering at the pit after a fight.”

“Fair enough,” Hakyeon agreed. “Never know who might want to chat you up, or look for a rematch.”

“There’s a dumpling stop that stays open late,” Taekwoon murmured, and Hakyeon very nearly fell over himself trying not to coo at the other man. Maybe it was an act, but he had never met anybody so utterly cute in his life.

“I love dumplings,” he beamed. “Show me the way, Jung.”

“Call me Taekwoon,” Taekwoon said instead, and it had stayed that way from that moment on.

+

“I’m back,” Hongbin calls three weeks later, slamming the door shut as he squeezed into the apartment. He’d barely toed off his shoes before Wonshik and Hakyeon were in his face, elbowing each other in their excitement to question him.

“Did you get the results?” Wonshik asks at the same time Hakyeon demands, “Did you pass? Do you have your grades?”

“Slow down,” Hongbin grumbles, pushing both of them back. “It’s hot as hell in here, why didn’t you guys turn on the fan?”

“Motor broke,” Wonshik answers distractedly. “Sanghyuk said he’d fix it once he comes home.”

“Good,” Hongbin mutters, stripping off the clean white shirt Hakyeon had specifically laundered for him two days ago, so that he might look smart and proper going to receive his examination results. And Hongbin did look amazing that morning, with his hair gelled back and pressed pants hugging his legs and the slim black tie done up nicely around his neck. He looked like an upper-class city dweller, the kind that frequents those expensive cafés next to the pristine universities. But now was the time for laid-back Hongbin, apparently, who rummaged through the fridge for a can of beer with his shirttails untucked while Hakyeon and Wonshik hovered in intense anxiety at the kitchen table.

“Well?” Hakyeon shouted, unable to wait a moment longer. “Did you pass or did you not?!”

Wonshik smacked him, grumbling about Hakyeon yelling too loud, but Hongbin is already reaching into his bag to pull out a thick piece of paper, a wide smile on his face.

“You’re talking to an officially certified health and safety expert under the classification of a personal trainer as of twelve-thirty this afternoon. Also, I passed with first class honours and a distinction, if either of you are interested in knowing.”

Hakyeon screams with joy, and he’s not even upset when Wonshik’s shriek of delight drowns his. The two of them practically climb over the table to throw their arms around Hongbin, hugging him so tightly he wheezes.

“You did it! You passed! I knew you’d pass!” Hakyeon cries, sniffling loudly.

“I’m so happy!” Wonshik wails. “You’re so smart, Kong, you’re amazing!”

“Thanks,” Hongbin pants, giving the two of them neck chops. “Somehow I wish Sanghyuk was here; he’d be able to hold you two sentimental grannies back.”

“I’m not even pissed that you said that,” Hakyeon says, wiping at his eyes as he beams. “We should go out for dinner to celebrate! Us and Jaehwan and Taekwoon! They’ll be happy to know the good news too.”

“Oh my god, have you been telling everybody about me taking the exam?” Hongbin demands. “You are such a mom.”

“Be quiet if you don’t wanna get grounded,” Hakyeon says sweetly, already tapping furiously away on his phone. “Dinner will be on me! Let’s go somewhere nice.”

“Okay,” Wonshik and Hongbin immediately say in unison, and Hakyeon throws a dishtowel at them.

“Oh  _now_  you’re interested in what I have to say! Only when you guys get a free meal out of it!”

“Basically,” Hongbin smirks, and then leaps for their shared bedroom when Hakyeon starts to chase him.

By the time he wanders back into the kitchen, pouting and arms crossed, he accepts the cold drink Wonshik pushes into his hands and checks the reply from Taekwoon.

_Dinner with the kids sounds nice. I’ll tell Jaehwan too._

For the first time in weeks, Hakyeon manages to smile without any reservations.

+

They go for dinner at a noddle bar downtown, a pleasant place to dine but not one so upscale that they’d get nasty stares from anybody with a six-digit paycheck. Hongbin is the unwilling star of the night and looks like he might faint from all the excitement surrounding him. Jaehwan’s enthusiasm towards another academic had always been present ever since Hongbin revealed his desire to study, and now that he’s finally certified Jaehwan’s joy had clearly gone through the roof in addition to his claim that he can “finally have a proper conversation with an equally learned individual”, which, to nobody’s surprise, earned him several knocks to the head.

“Guys, Hakyeon’s paying tonight,” Wonshik announces once their tea had been poured and menus distributed all around. “So feel free to pick the best stuff available.”

“Very funny,” Hakyeon hisses.

“FYI, I am ordering everything and anything that costs more than twenty dollars,” Sanghyuk calls from the end of the table, and Taekwoon has to grab Hakyeon’s wrists to stop him from hurling the chopsticks as Sanghyuk pretends to cower behind his bowl.

“Let them live a little,” Taekwoon says softly, but his eyes were laughing. Hakyeon pretends to whine.

“How about we let my starving wallet live too,” he mumbles, and Taekwoon’s fingers soothe over the skin on the inside of his wrist.

“If you guys would lay off trying to order all the appetizers,” Taekwoon calls, his normally quiet voice managing to carry despite the ambient sounds of the restaurant. “Drinks are on me tonight.”

“Are you serious?” Jaehwan asks excitedly.

“Don’t make me reconsider,” Taekwoon warns, and Jaehwan holds his hands up, grinning cheekily.

Even though he walks out of the restaurant with a distressingly lighter wallet that night, Hakyeon doesn’t regret this gathering. They’re all pleasantly drunk, stumbling a little as they take up the whole sidewalk all the way home. Somehow, Jaehwan dismisses himself from the clinic and loudly announces his claim on Hakyeon’s bed for the night. Hakyeon doesn’t think much about it until he’s tripping over the threshold of Taekwoon’s bedroom, arms wrapped around Taekwoon’s neck and kissing frantically.

“Is Jaehwan staying over at my place?” he pants, watching Taekwoon yank his shirt over his head. It’s the dark maroon V-neck Hakyeon’s always liked, the one that hugged Taekwoon’s sides and showed off his collarbones nicely.

“So I hear,” Taekwoon replies, crowding Hakyeon against the wall. His hands settle on Hakyeon’s waist and slips under his shirt, squeezing lightly.

“If he pukes in my bed like he did last time—” Hakyeon grumbles, grasping blindly at Taekwoon’s belt buckled as Taekwoon rolls his eyes.

“The others will take care of him.”

“Others? Wonshik’s a lightweight. Hongbin and Sanghyuk probably think it’s funny to see Jaehwan barf onto my sheets to be honest—”

“Hakyeon,” Taekwoon growls and pinched his side. Hakyeon yelps, digging his nails into Taekwoon’s hip. “Stop. Worrying.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Hakyeon huffs, pushing Taekwoon’s hands off his waist so he could properly undo the buttons of his own shirt. “It’s not your bed that’s gonna suffer for this.”

“Do you want Jaehwan here while we’re together?” Taekwoon demands, eyes raking over Hakyeon’s chest once he tosses his shirt off. He reaches out and toys with the silver necklace hanging low against Hakyeon’s sternum, long fingers ghosting over Hakyeon’s bare skin.

“Not really,” Hakyeon admits, suppressing the little shudder that goes through him when he feels the ticklish sensation of the chain from Taekwoon’s ministrations.

“Then I don’t see what the problem is,” Taekwoon smiles, letting the tiny star pendent drop against Hakyeon’s chest.

“Hmph,” Hakyeon scowls. “If I go back tomorrow and my bed is completely ruined—”

“Why,” Taekwoon interrupts, pressing forwards, and Hakyeon cuts himself off with a sharp inhale once he feels Taekwoon’s solid thigh slide between his legs. “Are you still talking about the others?”

“Good point,” Hakyeon breathes, and grins before seizing Taekwoon’s chin to pull him forwards for another kiss.

+

He wakes during the afternoon under a gloriously naked Taekwoon to the sound of his phone buzzing annoyingly on the nightstand. Grumbling, Hakyeon shook his hair out of his eyes, lifted Taekwoon’s heavy arm off his chest, and picked up the device. It was a text from Hongbin, telling him that Wonshik was too hung over to train in the morning so they were going to head to the gym in the evening instead.

_He’s got a fight tomorrow night, so don’t you dare forget and spend all day banging instead of helping us train!_

“Disrespectful kids,” Hakyeon sighs, putting his phone back, and feels Taekwoon shift next to him.

“What time is it?” Taekwoon slurs, blinking blearily up at Hakyeon as he settles back onto the bed.

“A little after twelve. Are you hungry? We can make food.”

Taekwoon squints, clearly trying to process his options, and Hakyeon laughs a little, reaching over to comb Taekwoon’s hair back. His lover was adorable when he wasn’t properly awake.

“We can sleep a little more if you’re still tired.”

“No,” Taekwoon says slowly, and Hakyeon jumps when he feels a hand slide over his waist and go downwards, giving his ass a squeeze.

“Oi—”

“We can eat after another round,” Taekwoon murmurs, pressing his lips to Hakyeon’s neck, over the fresh hickeys from the night before. Hakyeon’s breath hitches as Taekwoon bites down, just hard enough to make him whine, and then shifts to hover over Hakyeon, his lashes lowered and eyes hot.

“You insatiable creature, whatever am I going to do with you?” Hakyeon teases, but he doesn’t stop Taekwoon when the other leans down for a searing kiss that makes Hakyeon’s heart race and his head spin.

To his credit, Taekwoon doesn’t deny it either.

+

“Why is it so damn hot down in here?” Hongbin sighs, fanning himself uselessly with the front of his shirt.

“Don’t whine, you big baby, we all know it’s hot,” Hakyeon grumbles, feeling equally sweaty and gross as he tightens the bandages around Wonshik’s knuckles. Hongbin slants him a weird look.

“Why don’t you just take your sweater off, you idiot?”

Hakyeon pretends not to hear as he steps back, letting Wonshik flex his hand. The multitude of hickeys and bite marks scattered across his collarbones isn’t something he was keen on showing off tonight, especially when he knew the others would be insufferable with their jokes. He watches as Wonshik nods, pleased.

“That’s good, thanks.”

“No problem,” Hakyeon replies, checking his watch. “We’ve got ten minutes until show time, let’s drop now and have you ready to go the minute the gates open.”

“Sounds good to me,” Wonshik agrees, and Hakyeon steps back to let Hongbin walk forwards, his newly minted trainer’s pass swinging on the navy blue lanyard around his neck. He held the nondescript toolbox they kept in the safe under the sink, and it hummed softly as the refrigeration compartment worked to keep the stimulant stored in it cold. Hongbin slid the lid open, letting the condensation gush out of it like some mysterious sci-fi scene before he took out a tinted bottle no bigger than his palm. He uncapped it smoothly, ripped off the sterilized plug with practiced ease and walked over to Wonshik. Wonshik tipped his head back, eyes staring up at the scratched-up ceiling as Hongbin quickly squeezed the stimulant onto his right eye.

A thick, rather viscious layer of clear liquid slid over the rounded surface of Wonshik’s eyeball as he fought not to blink, shivering a little in his seat. Hongbin tossed the first bottle into the trash before quickly uncapping the second one and dropping the contents into Wonshik’s left eye as well. The glassy look persisted for a few moments until the substance seemed to sink into Wonshik’s eyes, and he blinked furiously, trying to ease away the initial sting of chemicals on a rather sensitive organ of the body.

“How does it feel?” Hongbin asks, watching Wonshik critically as he rolled his eyes a little.

“Good,” Wonshik replies. “Cold. The usual.”

“Are your normally dropping two bottles now?” Hakyeon asks.

“Yeah,” Wonshik hummed. “I’ve been a bit immune to one bottle dosages so I’ve upped it a little more.”

“It’s a steady progress,” Hongbin adds. “If we’re careful with control he shouldn’t hit three bottles until he’s probably old enough to retire.”

“That’s a welcome thought,” Hakyeon mutters as Sanghyuk clatters back in, water bottles in an iced bucket in one hand and an itinerary in the other.

“No changes to the schedule,” he announces, letting Hongbin and Wonshik dive for a cold drink while he passes the sheet over to Hakyeon. “Wonshik fights this round and the one after the next, and Taekwoon is fighting only one round tonight, second last one on the schedule. And Jaehwan’s here tonight, babysitting Taekwoon as he puts it, so you can unclench now.”

“Thanks for the reassuring words, my son,” Hakyeon sneers, giving Sanghyuk a neck chop as he pockets the sheet. “Have you done your homework for the night?”

“Funny,” Sanghyuk rolls his eyes. “It’s busy out there. Wonshik better put on a good show.”

“He’ll be fine,” Hakyeon mutters distractedly. The fighter’s pits in the underground at the corner of the last station and the remains of an old manufacturing power plant was one of the biggest and the best, but it was also the most tattered and packed. Sunken ten feet into the ground was a literal pit, only a little bigger than those professional boxing rings from back in the day, padded with a gel-like mat on the concrete floor and caged off by a high wire fence. Behind the twisted cords, sponsors, spectators and gamblers alike watched on with eager anticipation. Closed-off sections underneath the stands served as prep areas for the fighters and their crew, which could consist of nothing more than a friend with a water bottle or an entire hoard of trainers, doctors and mentors. It all depended on how much money funneled in from the high payers.

He thinks back to the hoard of men in sweaty business suits that surround him, grabbing his jaw jovially like he was an animal under inspection, wizened gamblers that took him aside and leaned in close, smoky breaths pitching deal after deal to him, and pretty women in sharp lipstick that watched him with lidded eyes and cruel smiles, waiting for him to emerge victorious or with twisted limbs and airless lungs. He remembers the wads of crumpled money sitting on his kitchen table, stained with smudges of blood, and the nauseating urge to throw it all away combating fiercely with the thought that _this is the only thing will feed the others and me for another week_.

“Hakyeon?” Hongbin asks, startling him out of his revere. “You alright?”

“Y-yeah,” Hakyeon murmurs. “Just thinking.”

Hongbin’s eyes roam over him, watching. “You’re not thinking of going back out there, are you?”

“Of course not,” Hakyeon scoffs. “Why would I?”

Hongbin shrugs, going for nonchalant, but Hakyeon can see the careful awareness in his eyes.

“Wonshik will win this round. You don’t have to worry.”

_You don’t have to go back out into the pit for us anymore._

“I know,” Hakyeon murmurs, turning away from the lights. “Is he ready?”

Like he’d been summoned, Wonshik walks up behind them, rotating his wrists and shoulders to loosen up any remaining tense muscles. He’s peeled his tank top off, leaving him shirtless and in nothing more than a pair of slim-fitting black shorts. His jaw is set and his left knee is twitching ever so slightly. His eyes glow, morphing from the usual brown to a dark gold before changing to a heavy red. The colours seem to sink like rolling storm clouds into the chasmic darkness of his pupils, blown wide from the stimulant. Hakyeon swallows and turns to face Wonshik, reaching up to cup the back of his fighter’s neck, giving him a little shake.

“Focus,” he says calmly. “You’re going to win.”

Wonshik nods once, his gaze ever-shifting, never still, like he’s looking right at Hakyeon and beyond him at the same time. “I’m going to win,” Wonshik repeats, his voice husky, and Hakyeon smiles.

“Good. Let’s roll.”

+

In retrospect, Hakyeon never imagined leaving the pit quietly, even if that was the way he wanted to go. Everything was going too fast, at unstoppable breakneck speeds that left him drained and unable to lift his head off Taekwoon’s arm the mornings after. Taekwoon always insisted on sharing the bed in the clinic with Hakyeon after particularly rough fights, his taller frame curled protectively around Hakyeon’s shaking body as he came down from the stimulant. Sleep shots lulled him back to a dreamless slumber until hunger woke him, and then it was more workouts, more schedules, and more bottles picked up from silent but trusted distributors in stores with secret backdoors. On the rare nights Hakyeon didn’t fight, he watched Taekwoon tear apart other fighters in the pit or flipped through Jaehwan’s tattered cookbooks, restless and fidgety. He wondered if this would be his life once he stopped fighting.

If there’s one thing Hakyeon’s grateful for, it’s how everything ended quickly: a jumped-up opponent, out of control after a horrifically overwhelming overdose of stimulant, tackling him too fast and too hard. Hakyeon still remembers the way he slammed into the ground, his back breaking in an instant, and the kind of serene shock that followed.

Hands, holding him.

Head, pounding.

Heart, shattering over the look of sheer terror on Taekwoon’s face as his lover held him and cried and pleaded for Hakyeon not to die.

Hakyeon remembers whispering  _sorry_ , but he’s not sure if Taekwoon heard him through all the noise and his bone rattling sobs back then.

+

“Hakyeon!”

He turns from where he’s leaning against the lamppost, mindlessly scrolling through his news app, and squints at the onslaught of evening light blazing low over the rooftop of the bank. Hongbin is jogging down the steps towards him, his soft grey cardigan flapping behind him as he runs down the steps.

“How much did we make?” Hakyeon asks, taking the envelope Hongbin passes over discreetly.

“Almost two thousand,” Hongin says, grinning widely. “The cuts are getting really good.”

“Damn,” Hakyeon breathes reverently, peeking into the wad of bills tucked away in the envelope. “Your trainer license is definitely paying off.”

“It feels good to be official,” Hongbin admits. “Hopefully that’ll get us a few more sponsors.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Hakyeon says, folding the flap of the envelope back down. “After Wonshik’s performance last night I won’t be surprised to see patrons drooling over his feet the next time we go back to the pit.”

“Nasty as that sounds, I imagine we’ll be able to put food on our table for a few more weeks at least, so I’m not going to complain.”

“Money makes the world go ‘round,” Hakyeon grunts, rolling his aching shoulders. His back was acting up today, the muscles tense and his bones achy. Maybe he’ll wheedle a good massage out of Taekwoon later on tonight.

“I texted Sanghyuk,” Hongbin says, tapping on his phone. “We’ll pick him up, grab some groceries, and then go home for the night?”

“Yup. And hopefully Wonshik will be up by now,” Hakyeon sighs. “I’ve never met a fighter that could sleep that well after a fight. Actually, I don’t even think he needs a sleeper shot anymore.”

“We can cross that off our expenses then,” Hongbin snorts as the two of them make their way down the street, squeezing through the cluster of people trying to head home after work. Hakyeon wonders what it would be like if they all had normal jobs sometimes. What would he be doing? Would he wear one of those plain grey dress shirts from those cheap department stores and second-hand trousers? Would his desk be filled with mundane office supplies and framed pictures of his friends? Would he hang out around a water cooler, tiny paper cups in hand, complaining about his boss with his co-workers that all wear similarly cheap suits and wore their hair combed back neatly?

Being a fighter and then a mentor was a hard life, but where would he find an occupation any more interesting?

Hongbin is saying something about looking into scholarships for Sanghyuk and the local college when the two of them finally arrived at their friend’s little corner, jammed between two other vendors in the alleyway marketplace. Sanghyuk was sitting cross-legged on a wobbly stool, expertly switching between the tiny metal tools he held in between his fingers as he worked his magic on a tall, severe-looking woman’s phone. A tray of electronics is balanced on another stool, and Hakyeon can see anything from phones to chipped music players, worn down GPS devices and voice recorders. Sanghyuk looks up when Hakyeon and Hongbin jam themselves between the people milling about and nods at them.

“Hey,” Sanghyuk says, his voice muffled by the mini screwdriver he had between his teeth. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

“We’ve got time,” Hongbin says, checking his watch. “What do you want for dinner, Hyukkie?”

“Anything’s good,” Sanghyuk replies, slapping the back of the phone back on for the woman. A bill is exchanged between the two at lightning speeds, and then she’s gone and Sanghyuk is tucking the money into a battered tin that Hakyeon had once used to store tealeaves.

“ ‘Anything’s good’ just means more fried patties from the convenience store down the block,” Hongbin grumbles. Another train passes overhead, but it’s not carrying any cargo. Hakyeon watches it run down the street, and his gaze drops to where an odd kind of haze seemed to rise from the far end of the alleyway. He frowns.

“We don’t have to get fried patties,” Sanghyuk pouts. “We could just get the fried chicken or something then.”

“I’m not eating anymore fried food, I swear to god.”

The haze seems to grow, and a distinctly nasty smell is slowly wafting their way. Hakyeon reaches out and grabs the end of Hongbin’s sleeve, eyes narrowed as he stares ahead.

“Hakyeon?” Hongbin asks, but Hakyeon’s not listening. There’s a muffled shout, the sound of something breaking, and the haze grows thicker still.

Something isn’t right.

“Crawlers!  _Crawlers_!” somebody suddenly screams in the distance, and Hakyeon jerks like he’d just been doused with cold water. Hongbin’s eyes widen and Sanghyuk stands, paling horribly, mouth open in shock. ‘Crawlers’— street slang for the cops. It was a raid.

“Oh, fuck,” Sanghyuk swears, and then he’s scrambling to shove the electronics into the rucksack under the table. The sounds of metal and plastic clacking against each other is drowned by the roar that rises like a wave from the panicked mass in the marketplace began to scram.

Hongbin steps forwards to help Sanghyuk, but Hakyeon immediately pushes him back, his thoughts going a mile a minute.

“What are you doing?” Hongbin cries, confusion evident in his face, but Hakyeon just strips off his sweater and throws it over Hongbin’s shoulders. He yanks the large hood over Hongbin’s face and shoves him away, more firmly this time.

“You can’t stay here!” Hakyeon shouts over the noise. “If the Crawlers catch you you’ll lose your trainer license! Run to Jaehwan’s clinic and stay there, and don’t let them see your face!”

“But— you and Sanghyuk—” Hongbin stammers, almost tripping over an overturned table as he took a step back. Hakyeon shakes his head and gives him a fierce push towards the direction of the main streets. Out of the three of them, Hongbin has the most to lose if he gets arrested.

“I’m with him! We’ll follow, just  _go_!”

Hongbin’s expression is desperate, but he takes Hakyeon’s instructions and bolts, disappearing into the wave of bodies all fighting to run away. The haze has reached them now, and a putrid scent fills the air. Hakyeon gags. Hot gas, he thinks. They’re being smoked out.

“C’mon,” he croaks, helping Sanghyuk shovel the rest of the products into the bag. When Sanghyuk makes to pick it up, Hakyeon shakes his head and pushes the tin can of money into the younger’s hands instead.

“They can’t hold you for illegal selling if all they find is money on you,” Hakyeon pants, shouldering the rucksack. “I’ll take your stuff.”

“But if they catch you—” Sanghyuk says, eyes wide with terror as the shouts and sounds of marching grow louder, and Hakyeon doesn’t waste any more time. He grabs Sanghyuk by the wrist and pulls him away from the growing shadow of armed cops storming through the narrow alleyway, looming like some unseen beast on the midst of the smoke cloud coming their way. They trip over all sorts of discarded and abandoned items and squeeze through stragglers that couldn’t keep up with the crowd. Several times they have to double back, either block off by dead ends or a clogged up exit too full of people for them to gain any passage. Hakyeon’s heart is racing, frantically searching for an escape.

They bolt for the familiar streets leading towards Jaehwan’s place, scrambling like rats fleeing from the big, bad cat. He doesn’t want to see it, but the sights of the cops grabbing, beating and wresting people down to the ground surround them as they run. Twice Hakyeon nearly runs smack into the back of a Crawler, but dodges them just in time. He doesn’t think they’re seen, not in the mass confusion surrounding the place, and they’re so, so close to the clinic when shit hits the fan.

He hears a sound behind him, and suddenly something heavy smashes into his ankle. It pitches him forwards and sends him face first into the ground, nearly dragging Sanghyuk down with him. Groaning in pain, Hakyeon flops onto his back and sees some thick, wiry equipment twisted around his ankle. A tangler, his hazy mind supplies him. Crawler gear meant to incapacitate his ability to walk. Hakyeon grabbed it and forced it off his leg.

Sanghyuk is screaming for him to stand when the Crawler in a gas mask and bulletproof vest thunders up to where he lay and backhands Hakyeon across the face. His head hits the ground and the pain momentarily stuns him. Gloved hands grab him and turn him over, shoving his face harshly into the ground. Hakyeon starts to struggle a moment too late, tasting and feeling blood on his face, and when he feels the cold metal of handcuffs start to curl around his wrists the panic truly sets in.

Something barrels into them, knocking the Crawler off him, and Hakyeon scrambles to sit up, his back screaming with pain as he ripped the handcuff off him. It’s Sanghyuk, who’s wrestling with the Crawler and miraculously managing to hold his own. Sanghyuk can fight dirty when he wants to— impossible not to, really, when he has both Wonshik and Hakyeon to spar with. But the Crawler is taller, bulkier, and he flings Sanghyuk onto the ground before putting him into a relentless chokehold, squeezing the life out of him. Sanghyuk scrabbles against the ground, making a series of distressing, garbling noises as he struggles, eyes wide with fear.

Hakyeon’s blood boils with hotheaded rage he hasn’t felt in a long time.

He stands, closing his fist around the handcuffs in hand, and coves the distance between him and the Crawler with a few steps. His hands grasp the gas mask and he yanks, forcing the Crawler’s head back at a terrible angle. The cop’s hands release Sanghyuk and the younger collapses onto the ground, coughing roughly. Hakyeon is operating on base instinct as he knees the Crawler in the face, breaking the cop’s nose, and then he kicked him to the ground. He lifts his foot and stomps it repeatedly on the Crawler’s chest, feeling ribs snapping beneath each stamp.

“Don’t— touch— Sanghyuk— you— piece— of—”

“Hakyeon!” Sanghyuk yells.

“I’ll—  _fucking_ — kill— you—”

“Hakyeon!”

A different voice shotus his name, and he felt the hand close on his shoulder. He jumps, whipping around to strike, but familiar hands catch his punch and he finds himself looking up at Taekwoon, whose hair is disheveled and his expression is ablaze and he’s panting hard, like he’d run all the way here.

“Hongbin’s at the clinic,” Taekwoon says urgently, pulling him away from the Crawler. “Forget the guy.”

Hakyeon takes a shuddering breath and fights to keep his calm. He trips over unsteady feet as he clutches at Taekwoon’s arms. “Okay,” he gasps. “Let’s go.”

Taekwoon nods tersely, but then his eyes widen a fraction at some unseen horror. Next, Hakyeon hears but doesn’t feel the bite of a bullet as a gunshot goes off behind him, because Taekwoon’s thrown him to one side a second before he could get shot. Hakyeon barely manages to break his fall as Taekwoon crumples to the ground instead, a motionless pile of limbs on the cracked pavement, and Hakyeon’s head spins as he tries to comprehend what just happened.

It’s Sanghyuk who saves them and puts his street smarts to good use as Hakyeon freezes up in shock instead, eyes trailing after the growing circle of brilliantly red blood pooling around Taekwoon’s abdomen.

The backpack of electronics is ripped from his shoulders as Sanghyuk chucks it at the Crawler, who’s struggling to regain his grip on the weapon after the recoil because of his broken ribs. The heavy bag hits him hard in the face and knocks him flat on his back, buying them precious seconds. Sanghyuk doesn’t wait for Hakyeon to come into terms with anything. He just latches onto the back of Taekwoon’s shirt with one hand, hauls Hakyeon up with the other, and drags the two of them down the short span of alleyway left, around the corner, and up the street. Hakyeon staggers along, mind clouded with shock.

“Move, Hakyeon,” Sanghyuk pleads, his voice thick with anxiety, panting heavily as he tries to run. That snaps him out of his stupor, and Hakyeon scrambles to grab the back of Taekwoon’s shirt too. The two of them haul Taekwoon down the street, around the clinic, and when they reach the back steps, Sanghyuk gingerly throws Taekwoon’s arm over his shoulders and uses his taller build to heave the fighter up the steps as Hakyeon pounds on the door and screams for Jaehwan.

“Shit,” Hongbin swears when he sees them after Jaehwan opens the door, but Hakyeon ignores him. He grabs Jaehwan by the front of his shirt instead and struggles to get his words out.

“Crawler— he shot— Taekwoon— he’s bleeding so much—”

“Get him to the back room,” Jaehwan says at once, and Sanghyuk doesn’t waste any time pulling Taekwoon into Jaehwan’s clinic. A trail of blood follows Taekwoon’s dragging feet, and Hakyeon’s stomach turns over at the sight as he rushes in behind them.

Sanghyuk pushes the unconscious Taekwoon onto the examination table and Hakyeon scrambles to help put his legs up. The lower left side of Taekwoon’s shirt is soggy with blood, and his face and lips are completely white. Hakyeon didn’t think it was possible for him to get any paler.

His head spins and he feels like he’s short on breath. He doesn’t realize how badly he’s shaking until Sanghyuk touches his arm and Hakyeon leaps a foot into the air.

Jaehwan bustles in before Sanghyuk could say anything, a doctor’s coat hanging off his shoulders and gloved hands holding a silver tray of instruments Hakyeon doesn’t even want to look at.

“I need space,” Jaehwan says shortly. “Wait for me in the kitchen.”

Hakyeon lets out a mixed noise of distress and desperation, but Sanghyuk pulls him out of the room and away from Taekwoon.

“Wait—” Hakyeon chokes out, but Sanghyuk firm grip doesn’t relent, his expression pinched as he guides Hakyeon outside.

“You gotta let Jaehwan do his work,” Sanghyuk says, voice hoarse. “Just sit down, Hakyeon. It’ll be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Hakyeon takes in a shuddering breath and lowers himself shakily onto the edge of the sofa, clenching the armrest with a fierce death grip. Sanghyuk bites his lip and looks like he wants to say something, but Hongbin walks in then, taps Sanghyuk on the shoulder and quietly hands him a change of clothes. It’s only then does Hakyeon notice the bloodstains on Sanghyuk’s sweater, and looks down to see red on his own clothes as well.

“Hakyeon,” Hongbin says softly. “C’mon, let’s get you washed up.”

Numb, Hakyeon nods and rises to his feet. He lets Hongbin guide him to the bathroom upstairs, where he strips off his ruined shirt and tosses it into the tub. Then he switches on the taps and scrubs furiously at his hands under the running water, willing the blood crusted under his fingernails and staining the lines of his skin to wash out.

Hongbin watches him struggle silently, and outside, the sounds of the raid can still be heard: glass breaks and people scream. Hakyeon bites his lips and scrapes harder.

“You’re good,” Hongbin says firmly, turning the taps off. He drops a towel and one of Taekwoon’s clean shirts onto Hakyeon’s hands. “Go change and come back down later, okay?”

“Okay,” Hakyeon whispers, and Hongbin hovers for a moment before stepping out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him to give Hakyeon some privacy. Hakyeon swallows, a task made difficult by his dry throat, and changes into Taekwoon’s shirt. He sits down on the floor, buries is face into the fabric, and stays there for a long, long time.

By the time Hongbin finally comes back upstairs to find him, the sounds of the riot have stopped and the sun had gone down, turning the sky into a dark midnight blue. Hakyeon stares tiredly out the window until he hears a clatter and a door shutting as Jaehwan steps into the kitchen, sets the steel instruments onto the counter, pulls off the gloves, and tosses them into the bin.

A sense of unrestrained urgency he’d never known before surged through him, and Hakyeon all but leaps forwards and accosts him.

“Is he okay?” he forces out, and Jaehwan pushes at Hakyeon, tired and startled.

“I got the bullet out, cleaned the wound, and stitched him back together,” Jaehwan says firmly, getting straight to the point. “It didn’t hit anything vital, but— it came close.”

Hakyeon inhales sharply.

“Let me— let me see him.”

“He’s still out of it,” Jaehwan shakes his head. “Also, you’re not clean. Taekwoon’s already running the risk of an infection and I don’t need you to up those chances.”

“Let me see him,” Hakyeon stresses, trying to shove past Jaehwan. Jaehwan frowns deeply and blocks Hakyeon’s way.

“You’re not helping him by being insistent,” Jaehwan barks, pushing Hakyeon out of the kitchen and away from the back room. “Go out and buy me fresh bandages, and get some high-grade painkillers and antibiotics while you’re at it too. And stay out.”

“You can’t make me—” Hakyeon retorts furiously, but Jaehwan punches him, hard across the face, and Hakyeon falls backwards against the sofa. He feels hands on his back, helping him back up, and he wants to push them away but he’s frozen, staring in slight shock up at Jaehwan. The doctor breathes heavily and turns on his heel, stomping over to a cabinet. He pulls out a large envelope and tears it open. Crumpled bills of varying amount spills out onto Jaehwan’s hands as he counts it fervently.

“There’s enough for bandages and painkillers here,” he grunts, throwing the money to Hakyeon. “But antibiotics…”

Hakyeon looks down at the bills, all of them faded and a little torn at the edges, and hears Jaehwan grow progressively more frustrated as the doctor turns the sitting area upside down, searching for money.

“Why is there never enough,” Jaehwan snarls, whipping around to toss a small jam jar of change towards Hakyeon, who nearly drops it. He’s never seen Jaehwan like this before. The doctor sweeps a box of cutlery off the coffee table and onto the floor with a shout, and the sound echoes around the room. “WHY ISN’T THERE ENOUGH!”

“Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk says suddenly. “It’s okay.”

Hakyeon swivels his head in surprise, and so does Jaehwan, who looks like he’s a second from yelling at Sanghyuk too, but he stops when the younger walks over to Hakyeon and holds out the banged-up cash tin from his marketplace stoop.

“I make a fair bit during the day too, you know,” Sanghyuk says quietly, managing a little smile. “You should be able to buy the antibiotics with this.”

He walks over and presses the tin into Hakyeon’s hands, who takes it slowly, his hold painfully brittle as he looks up at his friend.

“When did you grow up so much, Sanghyuk?” he asks shakily, and Sanghyuk’s smile widens a touch.

“You didn’t notice because you were too busy worrying about all of us,” the youngest replies. “But you don’t have to anymore, Hakyeon. You’re allowed to start worrying about yourself now.”

Hakyeon bows his head, simultaneously ashamed and happy. Sometimes he wonders if he’d condemned them, Wonshik and Hongbin and Sanghyuk, when he could not longer fight. If his downfall was what dragged them all into this life, if they had no choice but to struggle like he did in order to provide. But somehow— he’s starting to think that might not be the case.

“Thanks,” he whispers, and feels Hongbin’s hands gently pushing him towards the door.

“Come back when you have everything,” he says, and Hakyeon nods, stumbling down the steps and onto the pavement, clutching the money tight in his fists. “And be careful going around. The Crawlers are gone now but you don’t know who else is out there.”

“I will.”

The trip to the pharmacy is stoically silent compared to the mad panic that seized the streets earlier that evening. The marketplace is an utter mess; full of broken stands, discarded items, smashed up food and shredded clothes. Cautious looters are scavenging through the mess, searching for items to call their own. People cringe and scamper away when Hakyeon bustles through, too noisy for their liking, but he doesn’t stop long enough to watch the nobodies hover or for them to figure out he’s got cash on him.

The pharmacy is open twenty-four hours, but there is nobody but a tired young woman sitting on a high stool behind the counter when he shoves aside the gated doors in, panting from his run. She looks up but doesn’t greet him. Hakyeon spares her a look before making a beeline for the aisles, snatching up a metal shopping basket as he walks past a shelf. He goes for what he knows best first: rolls and rolls of packaged bandages, pristine and clean. The painkillers follow suit, but the antibiotics prove harder to decipher. Rows and rows of bottles and boxes with mind-numbingly scientific words and instructions dance around in Hakyeon’s vision until it threatens to overwhelm him. He shakes it off and sticks his arm out, sweeping the whole row of medicine into the basket without checking them. Fuck it, Jaehwan’s the one with a doctorate. He could figure it out.

He staggers up to the counter, and the pharmacist is watching him warily. She probably thinks he’s here to rob the place, given the way he’s dressed and probably how wild his expression must be. Hakyeon schools his face into something proper, neutral, and places the basket onto the glossy countertop.

“All of this, please,” he says quietly, and deposits the envelop, jar and tin can off to the side. The pharmacist raises an eyebrow, but she doesn’t comment, and goes to scan the items instead. Hakyeon watches the price go up with a careful eye, mentally ticking off the amount as the items found its way from the basket into rustling plastic bags.

“This too?” the pharmacist asks suddenly, holding up a tiny plastic bottle for his inspection, and for a moment Hakyeon startles, thinking it’s a bottle of stimulant.

But it’s only a tiny container of medical eye drops, complete with a plastic cap and a sticker advertising instant eye-relief and moisturizing properties. He must’ve accidentally swept it into the basket in his minor ransacking of the shelves.

“Oh, no…” he says, taking the bottle back from her. It’s lighter than the bottles the stimulants are kept in, and his hands tremble around the tiny object.

No— it’s not just his hands. His whole body is shaking, and Hakyeon lets out a quiet gasp. He felt the kind of uncontrollable urge to collapse in on himself and it drove him to his knees. He fell into a crouch in front of the counter, clutching at the plastic counter top weakly for support.

“Sir?” the pharmacist asks, watching him closely. “Are you alright?”

The backs of his eyes stings and burns and he blinks furiously, trying to get rid of the painful feeling. I want to cry, Hakyeon realizes, and the desire to do that has been foreign to him for so long already that he doesn’t know what else to do but curl in on himself as the pharmacist runs over to him, asking if he’s ill, if he’s okay.

He isn’t okay. This might be the only time Hakyeon has ever truly wanted to cry— but it’s already years too late.

+

A hospitals stay is a luxury they’ll never be able to afford, even with all of Hakyeon’s, Wonshik’s and Jaehwan’s savings combined, and they can’t empty their funds out even if they wanted to. They’ll never survive.

So Taekwoon stays at Jaehwan’s clinic, despite the health risks, and Hakyeon burns at Taekwoon’s bedside once he’s allowed near his lover. It hurt to see Taekwoon, who moves with grace and fights without reserve, lying so still on the bed. The bandages around the wound are clean and white, and the fleece blanket tucked up to his chin is a weird shade of peach. The liquid in the IV drips at sparse intervals, and when Hakyeon finds that looking at Taekwoon is too much he’ll fix his gaze on the drops until he dozes off.

Wonshik, Hongbin and Sanghyuk drop by several days after the incident, prepared to head down to the pits for another fight. That startles Hakyeon, who had completely forgotten about Wonshik’s upcoming matches, but he’s forced back down into his seat when he tries to get up and go with them.

“You stay here,” Wonshik says sternly. “You’re a mess right now, and we don’t need you getting into more trouble at the pits.”

“But the fight—”

“Hongbin’ll babysit us,” Sanghyuk chirps, making Hongbin squint at him. “He’s good at that, anyway.”

Hakyeon flounders, wanting to follow his juniors but also reluctant to leave Taekwoon’s side. Fortunately, Jaehwan makes the decision for him when he walks in with rolls of bandages and disinfect bottles in hand.

“Time to change his bandages, Hakyeon,” Jaehwan says, dropping the supplies down on the table. “Need your help again.”

“We’ll call you before we come back!” Sanghyuk shouts, and before Hakyeon could stop them they’d already scuttled out, the floorboards creaking behind them as three giant guys all tried to squeeze through a tiny doorway at once.

“They’ll be fine,” Jaehwan says matter-of-factly as he tosses Hakyeon a pair of latex-free gloves. They work well together, efficiently dealing with the wound and cleaning even though Hakyeon’s hands still tremble as he touches Taekwoon’s cold skin. “You raised them well, mom.”

“Shut up,” Hakyeon chuckles weakly. “I just don’t want— don’t want—”

“Don’t want them to end up like Taekwoon,” Jaehwan nods. “But you know, if it hadn’t been Taekwoon that day, it might’ve been Sanghyuk. And if it hadn’t been Sanghyuk, it would’ve been you. And either way, we’d still be here, just with a different person on the bed.”

“I don’t want that to happen either,” Hakyeon says, sighing with frustration. He eyed the fresh layer of bandages wrapped around Taekwoon’s abdomen, wary.

“Pretty sure you didn’t want to break your back either, but hey, you came over it,” Jaehwan says sternly, clearing up the old white strips. “And you know what? So will Taekwoon, and so will you again.”

“You believe that?” Hakyeon asks, blinking at Jaehwan, who rolls his eyes and hip checks him lightly.

“Yes, I do, you cheesy worrywart. Even though you kick me out of my own place more often than not to have sex with Taekwoon, I know you’re made of tougher stuff than that. Now— oi, don’t cry!” Jaehwan exclaims when he notices Hakyeon getting misty-eyed. “Don’t you dare, you cheeseball, hang on now, the telephone’s ringing, don’t cry while I’m talking, okay?”

Hakyeon waves Jaehwan off with a sniff as Jaehwan exits the backroom, presumably in search for the ringing mobile. He shoves the bandages into the trash bin, washes his hands under lukewarm water, and tucks the blanket back up under Taekwoon’s chin.

“C’mon, Taek,” he whispers, brushing matted strands of hair back from Taekwoon’s forehead. “Wake up soon.”

Taekwoon’s face remains still, and Hakyeon has to bite back a tiny sob before he leaves the room as well, shutting the lights off behind him as he does. He walks back into the kitchen just as he hears Jaehwan end a tense conversation on the telephone, his voice terse and hushed.

“— time to rest, I promise you he’ll be fine. He just needs a break so he can perform in peak condition.” A pause, and then Jaehwan’s voice sounds stiff. “Yes, I am aware of your patronage. Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

“Who was that?” Hakyeon asks, and Jaehwan startles as he hangs up, almost dropping the phone.

“No one—” Jaehwan starts to say, but he’s always been a bad liar to his friends, and Hakyeon can already guess the answer. Truth be told, he’s been waiting for this inevitable call too.

“Taekwoon’s sponsors?” he asks, and he can see Jaehwan struggling between being honest and lying.

“Yes, but—”

“What are they asking?” Hakyeon asks, his heart pounding. “Did they find out he’s injured? Are they telling him to fight? Are they withdrawing any parts of their funds?”

“I’ve given them the bare basics,” Jaehwan admits. “But I didn’t specify that it was, you know, a fucking bullet wound, so they wanted to know if Taekwoon would fight after a week.”

“No,” Hakyeon hisses, furious, and Jaehwan holds up a placating hand.

“I know,” Jaehwan says, patient. “But they invested money into the fights, and somewhere, in the back of their really small brains, they think they’re entitled to Taekwoon’s life now. And they want him to fight so they can win their bets.”

“I won’t let them.”

“I know you won’t. I won’t let them either. But for now, we have to find a way to placate them, because they’re adamant on a fight and I’m not sure what we can do that might even remotely persuade them to let Taekwoon rest without losing our sponsorship.”

Hakyeon chews his lip, hands clenching around the edge of the table. Jaehwan shakes his head and tosses the mobile onto the counter, slumping against the sink as well. He looks exhausted, Hakyeon realizes, probably more so than the rest of them. He might be by Taekwoon’s side as often as he could, but Jaehwan had Taekwoon’s life riding on him. If only they knew another doctor, someone who could at least relieve Jaehwan of his work sometime, take his place and let him rest—

That was when realization hit him like an oncoming freight train.

“I have an idea,” Hakyeon says at once, and Jaehwan looks up.

“What idea?”

“I know someone who can replace Taekwoon,” Hakyeon says, blinking nonchalantly at Jaehwan, and it takes his friend a moment to catch on. A look of horror crosses the doctor’s face at once.

“Hakyeon, no.”

“Taekwoon needs to keep his sponsors,” Hakyeon says calmly. “But he doesn’t have to fight for them.”

“Hakyeon,  _no_.”

“It’s the only way—”

“If this is some fucking ploy to make Taekwoon rise from his hospital bed because his Cha-Hakyeon-is-doing-dumb-shit senses are going off the charts, save it. You don’t have to do this.”

“No, I don’t,” Hakyeon says, calm. Jaehwan swallows and shakes his head, recognizing the lost battle but unwilling to let it slide. “But Jaehwan, for Taekwoon, I will.”

+

“Taekwoon’s gonna kill you,” Sanghyuk says, his voice bland as he helps Hakyeon tape up his hands. “Really. He’s gonna launch himself off the bed and come strangle you for doing this, just you wait.”

“I don’t doubt it at all,” Hakyeon sighs, testing the give of the bandages. It feels good, familiar, and he stretches his limbs before nodding at Hongbin. “I’m ready.”

“I’m not,” Hongbin retorts, but he holds up the bottle anyway, and Hakyeon tilts his head back. “This is a really bad idea.”

“So I’ve been told,” Hakyeon agrees. Off to the side, Wonshik makes a sad little noise in his throat. He’s always been a sentimental one, Hakyeon realizes, and reaches out to blindly grasp Wonshik’s hand. The squeeze he gets in return holds a comforting pressure.

“Don’t overdo yourself,” Jaehwan warns as the old and bitter sting of chemicals assaults his eyes. “Forfeit if you need to. I don’t think I can bear to bring your mangled body back to Taekwoon.”

“I know,” Hakyeon says, and tips his head forwards. The rush starts, and the buzzing noise surrounding the pit is already sinking away into the background. His head feels like cotton but his body feels like a livewire, ready to burst. He stands, strips off his shirt, and cracks his neck. He can sense his friends standing behind him, and Hakyeon looks over his shoulder and gives them a reassuring smile.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, and he turns to face the light.

+

_Four Months Later_

“Where is he,” Hakyeon whines, his neck stretched as far as it would go as he glanced over the sea of heads, desperately searching for a familiar face. “I told him to meet us out here once he’s done, why isn’t he out yet?”

“Relax,” Taekwoon murmurs, his palm warm on Hakyeon’s waist. “Maybe he’s gone to the bathroom or something.”

“But it’s been fifteen minutes!” Hakyeon snaps, tapping his watch of emphasis. Hongbin snorts.

“Give the kid a break man, he just got his diploma,” the trainer says, leaning up against one of the pillars in the atrium as parents, friends and young adults milled about, dressed up in flowing black gowns with graduation caps perched on top of their heads, golden tassels swinging from side to side. “He probably wants to say goodbye to his classmates first.”

“Well, he better make it quick or Hakyeon’s gonna blow a fuse,” Wonshik laughs, narrowly avoiding Hakyeon’s retaliating kick. Taekwoon intervenes with a sigh and wraps both arms around Hakyeon’s waist, pulling him flush against his front. Hakyeon deflates a little and glances behind him.

“You feeling okay?” he asks Taekwoon, brushing his fingers against Taekwoon’s abdomen. “Do you need to sit down, rest, anything?”

“Not at all,” Taekwoon says calmly, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “Why, do you need to sit?”

“Don’t joke,” Hakyeon huffs, smacking Taekwoon’s arm lightly. “You know I’m worried.”

“Sorry,” Taekwoon smiles, a little twinkle in his eyes as he gives Hakyeon a squeeze. He’s being rather affectionate today, and Hakyeon attributes Taekwoon’s good mood to the general excitement of the even they are currently attending.

“Look, there he is!” Jaehwan shouts suddenly, and pushing through the crowd is indeed Sanghyuk, standing a head taller than all of his classmates with a grin on his face. The gown swishes around his ankles, too short to cover the entirety of his legs, and tucked under his arm is thin plastic album containing the diploma he’d gotten today.

“You took your time,” Hongbin says, clapping Sanghyuk on the back. “Hakyeon was ready to fight his way backstage to find you.”

“Don’t do that,” Sanghyuk says, faking a look of horror. “How will I possibly explain to the Chair of the Department of Computer Sciences that my mother beat up half of the graduating class trying to hunt me down?”

“Wait, you were talking to the Chair?” Hakyeon interrupts, eyes wide. Sanghyuk smirks at him.

“Duh. I told him about my application and he was so impressed he said he’d keep an eye out for me in the program at the university.”

“No shit!” Wonshik yelled, earning a few scandalous looks his way. “We  _really_  need to go out for drinks tonight then.”

“Hakyeon’s treat!” Jaehwan screams, and he grabs Sanghyuk by the arm and yanks him out the door and down the flight of stairs. Hakyeon makes an indignant noise and follows after them, his demands for a proper picture to commemorate Sanghyuk’s graduation swallowed up by the din.

It’s a near perfect spring day outside, with the sun blazing in the cloudless blue sky and birds twittering in the alcove above the theatre hall. Hakyeon flinches at the sudden burst of light and lifts his hand, blocking out the sun’s rays as they descend towards the sidewalk as well. Hongbin and Wonshik are a few steps in front him; Hongbin’s hair has gotten a little longer now, curling at the nape of his neck, and it brushes against the crook of Wonshik’s elbow when he slings a companionable arm around Hongbin’s shoulders. They laugh at the sight of Jaehwan clinging to Sanghyuk, too excitable, like he was the one graduating all over again.

His fingers touch the thin scar etched into his eyebrow, four months old but still fresh against his skin. He remembers getting that scar very well; perhaps it had been the shock of actually feeling pain in a fight after his absence in the pits for so long that truly ingrained it into his memory.

Fingers close around his hand and pulls it away from his head. Hakyeon glances beside him and flushes when Taekwoon leans in and presses his lips against Hakyeon’s knuckles, eyes closed and the kiss gentle. He’s gotten a little mellower too, now that he no longer signs up for as many fights. Hakyeon likes this side of Taekwoon, relaxed and quiet, the tenseness of shoulders and bone-deep ache in his eyes slowly fading away. They’ll get by like this.

“Let’s go,” Hakyeon says, smiling, and tugs on Taekwoon’s hand.

The six of them reach the bottom of the stairs together, noisy and hectic as they always are, and they finally turn and move as one towards the direction of their homes. 

**Author's Note:**

> notes: the idea of "dropping" came from one of my favourite movies, Looper-- I really liked the futuristic feel the action gave to the whole thing.
> 
> This is the last story for this theme; I hope you’ve enjoyed reading all these Leo fics. VIXX’s comeback looks really cool; let’s hope they do well and get some rest soon◝( ′ㅂ`)و ̑̑ 
> 
> thank you for reading!


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